Involuntary Commitment
by CynicalDreamerC
Summary: Jobless Bella is in desperate search for an occupation; she finds one at Forks' Mental Institution and soon enough becomes acquainted with the inmates. How will she get on with the patients there? "We need to feel inflamed, but what sets us alight is what restricts us." Twilight/Cosmopolis crossover. Bella x Eric x cryptic dialogue.
1. Chapter 1

**Involuntary Commitment**

**Chapter 1**

***Bella***

The newspaper lay open on the cherry oak table as Bella circled black ink around black ink. She sat hunched, her hair swept up into an off-kilter bun and her eyes slightly glazed with a heavily buttered crumpet in her hand. After a while, the small letters seemed to blur in and out of focus and she pulled back as her head ached uncomfortably.

"Come _on._" She said to herself, gazing at the clock that indicated it was _10:45PM. _She stood up, gave the newspaper one last look before shuffling into the small bedroom, that seemed to miniaturise the even smaller bed. She lay back with a sigh, staring at nothing while her mind went up and down like a rollercoaster.

She'd just been sacked from her job at the drug store – it wasn't the best but it wasn't minimum wage. And once more she found herself jobless. She had started to wonder if karma had dealt her a bad hand because of that old lady she'd almost run into. With her truck.

She cringed now just thinking about it. Bella was not the best driver and the roads had been icy.

The old lady had survived though. Her walking stick had not.

Sighing heavily, she rolled onto her side, wincing at the hard mattress under her tender ribs.

_Clean up in isle four _had entailed mopping up mass amounts of protein shakes. She's fallen – of course – and in the process inadvertently knocked over an innocent bystander, causing them to fall into a set of shelves which had then caused a domino effect on the rest of the shelves.

And thus the lowly, clumsy employee had been sacked.

At least the woman she'd fallen into had been understanding. Not at all like the old lady.

_Old wretch._

Realising that nothing could be solved with bitterness, Bella set about scouring the papers for a job the very next day. The pay had been depressing – the job offers more so. But she was desperate, so she strived _to just get on with it_ as she'd always done.

Now a week later, Bella still found herself jobless. She'd called one vacancy after another with no positive result. Her days were filled with rejections from supermarkets and cleaning occupations. Each time she had to cross out another box with black ink, she felt sick; icy claws gripped at her stomach and never let up. She walked around her quant apartment tired and nauseous.

She had never finished her degree – so it didn't seem to count toward anything; she was living in harsh world with even hasher people.

**~I~C~**

"How is he, Rose?"

"He's doing well, Bella; improving. There was a new addition to the house last week, and him and Eli made fast friends." She pauses, and Bella feels the silence is filled with expectation. "He's drawing again, Bella."

Bella feels her heart clench within her chest, and tears rise up to well in her eyes. "Yeah?" She asks, her voice a low whisper. "What did he draw?"

Her voice is quiet when she responds. "His family."

Bella's eyes close as a gust of air escapes her. She breathes harshly before she breathes not at all. _His family is dead – all dead._

A sharp knocking on the glass case she's in makes her grip the phone tighter. Her eyes shoot over to see a man in tattered clothes staring at her, his fingers tapping on his wrist on a watch that doesn't exist. It doesn't matter, she understands.

"I gotta go." She chokes out. "I'll call back soon." She hangs up before Rose can respond, rushing past the man awaiting the phone booth and darting up the one set of stairs to her flat. Her hand fumbles with the keys before she manages to get it into the lock; and when she does, she slides down the plaster on the wall and cries.

**~I~C~**

Bella gets dressed the next morning; methodically pulling on clothes and brushing her teeth. She ties up her hair with an assured pull of her fingers; fixes her tattered laces with a definite knot; swirl and loop.

She will not be turned down again. She will find another job; she will earn twice what she was before.

Her eyes look around the dingy flat; one that seems more pitiful inside that the single door on the outside suggests. She thinks, _I will find a better place to live._

She'll prove to Rose and to everyone else at that home and the board and the council, that she's able enough to be Eli's carer.

**~I~C~**

Bella's walking past the street corner when she sees it – there, in the middle of the pavement. One more step and she would have walked right over it – on it. It would have been nothing more than any other inconsequential mud and dust and dirt on the bottom of her shoe.

But she sees it – yes she _sees_ it.

Her eyes dart around; looking at the pedestrians that pass by, paying no heed to her. Quickly, her arm reaches down and she snatches it up before the wind can blow it away. She scurries off into a nearby alleyway to hide-away. She pulls her scarf away from her mouth; pushes the hood from off her eyes. Her eyes scan the words and her breath hitches in her throat. Her heart pumps blood and adrenaline around her bloodstream with the assertive phrase: _yes, this is right._

_**INDIVIDUAL NEEDED**_

_**FOR OCCUPATION AS PHYSCHIATRIST**_

_**AT FORKS MENTAL INSTITUTION**_

_**NO QUALIFICATIONS NEEDED**_

_**PAID BY HOUR**_

_**SEE CONTACT NUMBER BELOW**_

**~I~C~**

Bella high-tailed it to the nearest phone booth, and with shaky fingers inserted coins and pressed down on buttons decorated with numbers. She held her breath and crossed her fingers behind her back – even though no one was looking at her.

"You've reached Forks asylum secretary – ground floor; Claire speaking, how may I help?"

Bella took a breath, swallowed. "H-hello. Yes. Hi. I'm calling about the . . . the vacancy available?"

"Okay," the voice immediately responded back with, "I'll just put you through. Please hold."

Bella held all right; held onto the phone with all she had in her.

"Hello," another voice; much deeper in pitch, "You're calling about the job I presume?"

"Yes," Bella said, "yes, I am."

She waited for him to say it had already been taken, that they were sorry but they simply couldn't offer it to her.

"Can you come in for an interview later today?"

Bella's mouth gaped.

**~I~C~**

Pulling nervously at the only suit Bella owned, she stood in front of the institution. It was nothing like what she would have pictured an asylum to look like; no tall, creaking gates or bars on the windows. No ominous wood pigeons cooing in the distance or crows squawking nearby; looking for their next prey. In fact, it was dressed up in such a way that the exterior led the perceiver to believe its insides were cheerful – chipper, even.

Bella might not have known any better and may have been manipulated into believing that the insides were really that bright, having never experienced a place like this before – ever. But the degree she'd been studying – the one she had never fully completed – had been in psychology, and so she knew what these places entailed. And it was anything but chipper or cheerful or bright.

There was also the fact that simply looking at this place made goose bumps erupt on her skin – a shiver tingle unpleasantly down her spine.

She shook her head as she made her way toward the building, the _click click_ of her low heels creating a rhythm to which she attributed numbers, to which she then attributed to the beats of her heart. She was nervous unlike when other situations like this arose – and they often did – because this was something new and different, something that she actually wanted to do – rather than doing something because she had to.

Bella had never dreamed that a job like this could arise and that she might be eligible for it.

_NO QUALIFICATIONS NEEDED_

She sure hoped that wasn't a typo.

**~I~C~**

"So, why should I hire you?"

Bella swallowed, looking across the desk at the blonde man that sat, leaning back in his office chair. His cool blue eyes were both expectant and detached. For the past half an hour, he had fired questions at Bella until her forehead started to leak perspiration; her fingers clasped together started to sweat.

She was never good at 'bigging' herself up to any employer – knowing that there were probably many more people more apt and suited to the job than her. But it was something she learned she needed to do, because if you didn't have any confidence in yourself then nobody else was going to – least of all your future employer.

She wet her dry lips before she spoke. "I believe I'm exactly right for this job and in turn exactly what you're looking for. Despite not finishing my degree at college, I studied psychology in-depth and at a high level. I understand things that somebody else might not . . . and I promise you I would give you my one hundred per cent while working here." Bella held her breath then, and waited for what seemed the longest time. She could practically see the most inner-going's on of his mind as he mulled her words over.

_Was she good enough?_

_Was she what they were looking for?_

_Could she hack it in a place like this?_

She could only hope that the answer to all the above was _yes_.

When he stood up she followed in shaky pursuit. "Congratulations," He said, a smile appearing on his face. He offered out his hand for her to shake. She took it. "You've got the job."

* * *

**A/N:** And so it begins . . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Involuntary Commitment**

**Chapter 2**

***Bella***

Bella stares at the bills scattered out in front of her. At each one she had read, she'd winced. She had to put them down and take deep breaths as she reminded herself: _I have a job now_. The thought was comforting, until it dawned on her that she'd never asked about the pay. Her heart rate alleviated once more. Chewing her lip, she sank down onto the floor as she contemplated what the advertisement had said about being paid by the hour. This suited Bella better than being paid by the week or month because the sooner she got a job, and in-turn money, the sooner she could pay bills and buy better food and a nice flat.

The sooner she could get Eli back again.

**~I~C~**

"And down there is the lobby, and across from it is the patients dinging hall. You don't have to eat with them as there's a staff room, but I would advise it – at least for the first few weeks – so you're able to build up some kind of stability, trust if you will."

Bella nods, storing the information in her brain, and in her nerves and anxiousness, wishes she had a little paper pad to jot all this down.

"Your office is on the other side of the building. I'll get Janine to show it to you later. Now," Jasper says, suddenly bringing his hands together in a single clap, "do you have any questions before we go and meet your patients?"

Bella tugs nervously on her pencil skirt as she thinks. "Do you know all the patients here?" she asks, her eyes darting around her surroundings. They've ended up located in a blue room with large windows allocated on each wall. "I mean – on a personal level?" Her mind goes back to his remark about eating with the inmates.

"A few," Jasper replies, motioning to the chairs; they sit. "There are different levels, you see? Different floors depending on the extent of the patients . . . vivacity." He raises his eyebrows.

Bella nods. _Oh_. "And how many levels are there?"

"Four," Jasper responds, holding up four fingers to indicate. "Each carer is assigned a floor or level. Mine is four."

Before Bella can ask what each of the floors mean, what one has to do to end up on one, two, three or four, Jasper is speaking again. "So, are you ready to go?"

Bella swallows, her stomach churning with burdensome butterflies. "Sure."

Jasper starts leading them out of the blue room and down a long corridor. Bella notes how soft the carpet is underneath her feet, how even her heels sink, sink, sink into the plush comfort. She also notices the windows as she did in the blue room. There are many, and the size they all seem to favour is _big_.

"The windows." Jasper says without turning around, seemingly reading Bella's mind. She starts slightly at his sudden declarative. "You'll notice there are many. We like to make the patients feel . . . free."

Bella nods, her eyes darting around. "I like them. It makes the place seem so light and open."

They come to a pause and Bella realises they've reached another door. Jasper turns around briefly. "Exactly. We don't want to make them feel trapped, when in actual reality . . ." He trails off.

"They are." Bella finishes quietly; the conversation taking on a sombre tone. Jasper sighs and Bella takes it as a signal to the end of this specific interaction.

Continuing on, he leads them through the door without a word. They're entered what looks to be another lobby-type room. It's wide and spacious, and the room is decorated in a kind of green that makes Bella think of nature. Her subconscious contemplates the freedom of nature and its inability to be truly entrapped.

There are more doors that Bella assumes lead into more rooms, and to the left she also notices a large veranda; decorated with potted plants and colourful flowers.

It's not at all what she had expected.

"Where are the patients?" She asks, noticing the quiet and lack of life in the lobby.

"Their rooms," Jasper says, indicating with a flick of his head to the closed doors. He lifts his wrist to check his watch. "They're being given their medication. It usually tires them out for a bit, so maybe we can have a group session to introduce you in about half-an-hour or so? – If you're okay with that."

Bella nods for what feels like the hundredth time that day. "That's fine."

"Well," he says, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "In the meantime, I've got a little business to take care of. You'll be alright for a little bit on your own? Just give the front desk a shout if you need anything. And explore the grounds – get comfortable with the place."

"I will," she says, "thank you so much for all of this."

Jasper gives a little shake of his head before he turns to exit. "Don't thank me yet," he says, voice nearly a mutter, "you still need to meet them."

**~I~C~**

Immediately after Jasper had left, Bella darted out into the veranda; irrevocably drawn to the vivid splashes of colour against the backdrop of an earthly and vibrant green. She touches petals softly and brings them to her nose to inhale their soft, sweet scent. It's freezing out; the onset of winter fast approaching and she can see her breath as it floats about the space in front of her, feel the wind chapping her lips and nipping at her exposed nose. But it ceases to matter as she caresses rose-buds and watches stems and leaves dance in the breeze; _pure, natural, free._ Her eyes dart over to the interior of the building, and she thinks choosing green was a good choice.

Renee used to make flowers – she made all beautiful things but most especially flowers. She made the arrangement, that is. She could have the most withered selection of flowers but could always and undoubtedly turn them into something beautiful. Everything she touched seemed to blossom. It was if she had Kings Midas' touch herself – right on the very cherry oak table that now resides in Bella's flat.

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet," A voice coos from behind her. Startled and skittish, Bella accidentally plucks petals off in her grasp and feels a pang of remorse for doing so. Her heart races in her chest as the voice speaks again. "That's a stupid line, isn't it? As if the name does not matter but only what interiorly it is. We are defined by names constantly. That flower you hold is defined by its name – _Rose_. Just as I am defined not by my being, but to which _tag_ my being has been allocated." The tangent pauses, and Bella swallows. "The line does not make sense when embedded in a world such as ours; filled with a sickening nano-second judgement that lasts no matter how many more seconds are spent together. We need to feel inflamed, but what sets us alight is what restricts us." Another pause, like time itself has paused to accommodate speech. "Perhaps Shakespeare wasn't such the visionary, after all."

Bella's body is tensed and the petals are now crushed within her grip. The voice's speech is quick but calculated, formal but spoke with an air of formality. There are no voiced pauses, indeed no pauses at all except to breathe, maybe to let the words they speak sink in and settle in the air before they start again.

When Bella turns around, the voice is gone.

**~I~C~**

She's still standing outside on the veranda when Jasper comes back. "Bella?" He asks, and she turns around to face him. He must see something in the taut lines on her face because he asks, "Are you okay?"

Bella plasters a smile onto her face. "I'm great." She responds, though in actuality, she's not very sure. Her quick encounter with the person whom she has now dubbed so creatively _'the voice'_ in her head has sent her through a loop. Her mind has whirled and contemplated, and in the present she just wants to go and find these people out. She's in shock and excited, she wants to analyse and interpret.

_A Rose by any other name would smell as sweet . . . _

"Right," Jasper says, fishing her out of her thoughts. "Would you like to go and meet them now? I've gathered them into the room we were in earlier." She nods, and they set off once more.

To Bella's surprise, they come to stop in front of the blue room. Just before Jasper whirls around and blocks the door in front of her in the process, she catches a brief flash of pale. "I know you've never worked in a place like this before," he says, gesturing with his arms to the space about them. "And I know this is all brand new to you," he hesitates, "but don't be put off by the people in there." He gestures with his thumb behind him. "Or what they might say. Okay?"

"Okay," Bella responds dutifully, but she's not so sure.

Jasper eyes her carefully for one more moment or two before turning back around and muttering something Bella can't catch under his breath. She closes her eyes, and when she reopens them again, Jasper's opening the door to something she's both unsure and excited to face.

* * *

**A/N:** "We need to feel inflamed, but what sets us alight is what restricts us." . . . I've been reading Cosmopolis, can you tell? ;P

Thoughts? Too weird? Not weird enough?

Thanks for reading! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Involuntary Commitment**

**Chapter 3**

***Bella***

There is complete and utter silence as they enter the room that Bella was sure hadn't been there previous to their arrival. She stared at Jasper's back, not being able to bring her eyes to look at the _other_ eyes she could feel upon her. She felt severely self-conscious, and could feel heat like a sun-burn upon her skin.

"Don't let them freak you out," Jasper is murmuring, so low she barely catches it. "They do this to every new member of staff. They're testing you." Strangely, this doesn't make Bella feel any better. Instead, her toes curl in her shoes as she realises the necessity to _pass_.

"Okay, guys," Jasper says, clapping his hands together _once_ again. They've come to a standstill in the opening of the circle their hungry-eyed audience are watching from within. Now that Jasper stands beside instead of in front of her, Bella's eyes find the floor – carpet, again.

"As you know, our previous psychiatrist, Dr Nevius, left due to . . . personal reasons," Bella looks at Jasper in her peripherals at his tone. He's looking up at the ceiling as if to say_, give me strength._

Bella thinks she knows the feeling well.

"I'd like to introduce his replacement," He makes a motion towards Bella. "This is Dr Swan, I'm sure she's going to make a great addition to our team here, and," Jasper's tone takes on that of someone issuing a warning, while trying to make it seem like they're not. "I'm sure you're _all_ going to make her feel very welcome."

There seems to be a silent, _or else,_ attached to the statement.

Bell swallows nervously and noisily, and licks her dry lips once before looking up.

The first thing she notices is the size of the group; there are less in it that she thought there would be. Her shoulders relax infinitesimally at that.

Their stare is next. Each one, she notices wearily, looks at her, watches her, it seems without even blinking. They don't smile, don't fidget or move – don't even seem to _breathe_.

She won't inhale until they do.

The silence stretches on until she thinks it will swallow her whole and suffocate her without sympathy.

"Hello," She finally says, and her voice is small, shrunken to nothingness by the vast amount of eyes on her, that seem like never-ending black holes – just waiting to suck her in. "It's nice to meet you all."

No-one says anything, and her toes curl tighter in her shoes. She spares each individual sparse glances but she doesn't really see them. They are blurred shapes and colours in a cool, window-wide room.

"This is Emmett," Jasper says, motioning toward the burly man that sits closest to her. Finally, his façade cracks and a wide smile cuts his face in two. His teeth gleam in the bright room, and Bella notices some of his teeth are missing. She nods towards the man, trying not to feel caution at the sight of his muscles bulging beneath his shirt.

"And Leah," Bella's eyes shuffle over to the girl that sits next to Emmett. She seems so small and fragile in comparison to the wide man next to her. Bella can hardly see her face because she uses her hair to cover it. Tremors shake her frame every five seconds or so.

Bella says softly, "It's nice to meet you, Leah."

And so Jasper continues to go around the circle. There's a girl called Rosalie with faded, lack-lustre blonde hair. Her skin is very, very pale, and it seems to have trouble stretching over the sharp angles of her pointed body. She is skin-and-bones solidified.

Alice is tiny, and Bella has to do a double-take because it looks like she belongs in middle-school. Her face has a kind of youth and innocence that is both refreshing and unnatural. Her dark, dark hair is short and sits in various spikes on her head. She vibrates in her seat, like she's going to fly off it at a moment's notice. But her eyes are too-wide and open, and they see past Bella and into the vast empty space about her that contains nothing, as if she's seeing everything.

There's a boy called Michael – and Bella calls him _boy_ because she's sure he's younger than her by quite a bit. He sits in the cushy chair with his eyebrows furrowed and he doesn't look up when Jasper introduces him. Instead, he sits hunched over what Bella _thinks_ is a calculator – his fingers moving a mile a minute. She wants to make some lame joke about the kids of today and something to do with gadgets, but the non-existent words die on her throat as she takes in the dollar signs, the pound signs, and the yen and baht signs engraved into the skin on his hands.

There are more faces, more names, and more symptoms that show there is something clearly wrong with these people surrounding her. She feels overwhelmed and out of her depth. She wonders if they feel wanting – of help, of anything at all.

They've come to the end of the circle. Jasper says, "This is Eric."

Bella's eyes land on Eric. He sits in his chair like he owns it, and both knows it and doesn't care about it. But there's something formal about the way his legs cross, his foot on his knee, like it's purposeful and controlled. Sunglasses obscure his eyes from Bella, and so she can't know whether he's looking at her or not. The feeling brings with it an uncomfortable swell of . . . something.

He licks his lips when she sees him, and his fingers run over his chin and jaw. Sound hits the airwaves before Bella sees his lips move. "Are you inflamed? – And all the meanings of the inflamed?"

Bella's mouth parts.

_We need to feel inflamed, but what sets us alight is what restricts us . . ._

Introspective, she thinks, _hello voice._

In her peripheral vision, she watches Jasper's eyebrows shoot up high into his forehead. Her own face is surprised, she can feel the strain in her features so she attempts to set them right again. She says, "I am not inflamed. I stay away from fire."

Eric's head tips to the side. "You can't fight fire. It will happen."

She tips her head up, raises her chin. "I've made no judgements," And then, for effect adds, "Eric."

She thinks she might see a smile playing in the corner of his lips, but it never erupts in full so she can't be sure.

Jasper claps. _Once_.

"Right, excellent," He says, and carries on talking, but Bella hears none of what he says. Her eyes linger on Eric's dark sunglasses. She wonders why he's here; she wonders what he thinks of her.

She wonders what colour his eyes are.

Eventually, she pulls her eyes away because of Jasper calling her name. She turns to him as he leads her away from the group and into a quiet corner of the room. Over Jasper's shoulder, she sees the group interacting. She sees Eric's covered eyes trained on her.

She shakes her head, looks to Jasper. "So," He says, "still want the job?" He's only partly joking.

"Of course I do," Bella says. "I want to help them." As the words spill out from her mouth, she realises their truth. Jasper looks surprised, but pleasantly so.

"Our last psychiatrist . . . " He trails off quietly, his eyes momentarily shooting over his shoulder to look back at the group. "Well, he couldn't quite, well, handle it."

"I want to help." Bella repeats.

Jasper nods. "I'm glad. I think you'll be good here, Bella, I really do." He looks back over his shoulder again, once. "But if it ever gets to be too much, don't worry about asking for a break, just go."

Bella nods. She thinks she might need that advice one day.

"And," He continues, and his voice has taken on a cautious tone. "Eric may seem . . . well, he's very cryptic. Inflamed?" He looks perplexed. "You understood him?"

"Um . . . " Bella stammers, feeling like she's just gotten caught out from doing something wrong. "I met him earlier – he spoke to me." She amends.

"Right," He shakes his head. "That's strange in itself. Eric doesn't tend to seek people out."

Bella doesn't know what to say to that.

"Can I ask why he's here?" She queries, curiosity burning quick and hard in her stomach.

Japer leads them to a couple of chairs a little way away, and Bella catches Eric twining his fingers together.

"They're all here for the same reason, essentially," Jasper says, smoothing down his shirt. "The levels go up depending on the severity of the disorder of the patients." He pauses. "Level four patients are those who are considered a vital threat to the lives of people around them, or they're own." His eyes catch hers, his blue deep and meaningful. "They aren't here on their own will."

It dawns on Bella. And she knows what he's going to say before he does. "So they're . . . " she starts.

He nods. "Involuntary committed."


	4. Chapter 4

**Involuntary Commitment**

**Chapter 4**

***Bella***

When Bella arrives back at her flat that evening, she is exhausted and energised; exhausted because even though physically she had done very little, the mental strain of being around people she doesn't understand but must fix has drained her. Though this clashes for her reason for being energised; there's a thrill she feels at helping them solve their problems, a thrill she has previously been deprived of – she is, for the first time in a very long while, stimulated.

She collapses onto her small, second-hand couch with a sigh. As she fiddles with the fraying edge of her skirt she realises with a jolt that once more, she had forgotten to ask Jasper about the pay. She furrows her brow as she contemplates why he wouldn't have brought it up, and then concedes that he may have, like her, simply forgot.

She leans forward, her elbows on her knees and she looks to the desk that resides a little bit away. On it still lays the bills that she hadn't put away in her haste, but as she looks around the small space now, she wonders where she'd have put them anyway.

Just then, the violent pounding on the door shakes her out of her reverie. She starts lightly, and feels her heart pick up tempo in her chest.

"Girlie, I know you're in there, and I also know that ya rent's late,"tThe voice slurs from behind the wood, "so open up."

Bella's heart stutters in her chest as her breath stutters in her throat. Her eyes shoot over to the calendar that hangs on the wall, and with shaking legs she stands and walks over to it. She bites back a curse as she sees the date, and more specifically, the bright red ink underneath it.

_**Rent due!**_

"God_damnit_," She hisses to herself as she lays her forehead onto her palm; it's cold – freezing. She's annoyed at herself for forgetting, knowing that she can't afford to forget at all.

"I _said_," the voice calls drunkenly from the other side, "open the fucking door!"

Bella can only stand and stare for many moments before finally, her frozen limbs are forced into action. She walks calmly, but very quietly, over toward the front door. She flinches when there's a forceful bang that pounds through the small space; makes her bones rattle. She breathes slowly as her hand reaches up and so slowly, she lets the latch go.

The lock clicks in place.

Deadly silence until the banging continues and increases; his foul language growing harsher, his tone more bitter each time his fist flies against the door. Bella backs away until she hits the wall and then she slowly slides down. She brings her knees to her chest and curls her arms around them; locks her fingers in place. Her stare never leaves the door and her body never leaves its place in the cold room, but her mind drifts long and so very, very far away.

~#~

Bella doesn't sleep a wink that night.

It's not the insistent pounding from her landlord that keeps her up through the cool night, though perhaps it may not help, it is not the source of her insomnia. As she rocks back on forth that night the floorboards squeak underneath her weight, but she barely notices it as her mind is cast back to that fateful moment.

She remembers watching a movie with Eli cuddled close between her and the arm of the sofa – he liked nestling himself in between small spaces for some reason, Bella thought maybe the encasement made him feel safe; a constant enclosement of arms. He was drifting in and out of fits of sleep, and so was Bella, until a sudden news flash on the television caught her attention.

She sat up, careful not to disturb Eli, blinking her eyes blearily at the brightly lit screen. There was a tightening in the pit of her stomach that made her face pale, and she didn't understand it at the time.

The face of the newscaster appeared on the screen, and then it cut to shots of a completely broken down plane. Its windows were smashed in, the wings were severely deformed and the very nose of the plane was utterly squashed into itself – as if it had landed on it straight on, and the force of it had been enough to crush it so.

Bella's heart beat was in her ears and the words the newscaster were saying didn't make sense – didn't register – for a moment. But then they did, and it felt as if all the blood had rushed out from her body, leaving her cold, pale and immobile.

She remembers looking down at Eli, half awake, half asleep, and feeling an abrupt sense of terror, so saturated was it that she couldn't contain the sharp cry that tore through her lips. Numb until she started to cry, and then wasn't able to stop. Eli woke up fully, his eyes frightened, but she couldn't say anything of comfort. Bella just took him in her arms and held him so _tightly, _and sobbed and wept and cried for the dead.

~#~

Bella peaks out through the peep hole when the sun has risen. She sees no sign of the landlord anywhere, but she knows better than to trust the limited vision which the peep hole provides. Still, she dresses and washes the best she can in her half-zombie state. She has work today and she can't miss it because it's only her second day, and perhaps the most important, because she needs the money – desperately.

She preps herself, throws quiet words at herself which are meant to encourage. She picks up her coat, slips into her shoes and slowly, carefully and quietly, opens the front door.

Her breath is caught and held; she makes not a sound as she waits for an assault – through which she will eventually escape because her landlord is more drunk than not, which also makes him semi-easy to escape from.

But nothing, and when she looks down the hallway both ways, she sees that it's all clear. This is her incentive to _hurry up,_ but when she does her hands are shaking so hard that it takes her a minute to twist the lock into place. Then she high tails it out of there as fast as she can; when she slams the door to her truck she doesn't think there's ever been a better sound.

The space inside is small, and she's cramped but she's comfortable.

She thinks of Eli and his love of small spaces. She thinks, _safe_.

~#~

"Good morning, Dr. Swan," Janine greets her as she enters – the secretary for the fourth floor Bella had been introduced to yesterday. "Did you sleep well?"

Bella fixes a smile onto her face, though she's sure it looks more like a grimace. "Not really," she admits, "the storm last night . . . kept me awake."

Janine nods sympathetically while Bella's stomach is churning over the real reason for her fatigue. "Yeah, I heard that. Vile weather, isn't it?"

Bella pushes her lips together. "Yes," she responds, "vile." She's thinking of her landlord and his slurring words; the way he smacks his lips together and how his eyes trail up and down her form without shame when he sees her. _Yes_, she thinks, _truly vile._

Janine hands a piece of paper to Bella. "Your schedule of appointments for the day," she explains in a very matter-of-fact kind of way. Bella scans over the list quickly, she ticks them off in her head as she reads.

_Leah: 9:00 – 10:00_

_Alice: 10:30 – 11:30_

_(Lunch and medication: 11:40 – 12:40)_

_Micahel: 1:00 – 2:00 _

_Eric: 2:30 – 3:30_

_3:35 and onwards – free time_

"What's free time?" Bella enquires without looking up.

"Oh," Janine says, "that's where you explore the grounds, get to know the patients and so forth." Bella looks up from the paper when she doesn't continue. "Trust," Janine says, looking right into her eyes. "This is where you build up trust." Jasper's words come back to her at that. _" . . . but I would advise it – at least for the first few weeks – so you're able to build up some kind of stability, trust if you will."_

_Trust, _she thinks_, is important._

"Okay," Bella nods, "I understand."

As Bella walks away, she thinks she might hear Janine mutter, _I hope so. _

* * *

**A/N:** So not much happened this chapter – in the grand scheme of things. But we got a little bit more background on Bella, which is good, I suppose . . .

The sessions are up next; let me hear your thoughts! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Involuntary Commitment**

**Chapter 5**

***Bella***

Bella surveys her office with a critical eye after she enters it. She notices the walls are very pale, and she can't decide whether they are more of a steel grey or powder blue. The room in itself is of generous size; there are two wide windows on either side of two of the walls, the carpet is plush pewter under foot and there is a large desk with a chair on either side it. They are both pure black – what looks to be leather – and provide an astonishing contrast to the otherwise colourless room.

Her heels don't make a sound as she pads across the soft carpet; running her fingers over the walls, the chairs and desk as she goes, noticing flinchingly that everything she touches is unnaturally smooth and cold. She wants roughness around the edges that provide a sense of _nature_ and _natural_, she thinks she may litter candles all around so the space is filled with the warmth essence of _life_ and _living_.

Sighing, she places her palm flat against the glass when she reaches the window. This too, is cold. Even though it is large and lets plenty of light leak through its pane, there are bars that criss-cross and cut the world in two, and as she peers at the large surface, she realises that there is no handle, nothing but the flat pane of glass and the bars that slice. It doesn't open.

She shouldn't feel surprised yet she does. In fact, there is a sense of annoyance that shoots up her spine that makes her shiver. These people, they aren't free, yet Jasper said these windows gave the impression of freedom. With furrowed brows she realises he was wrong, because these windows are barred and trapped on their very own, and this is _not_ the definition of freedom.

She tries to shake the feeling off, tries to rationalise that the design of the building isn't Jasper's doing and therefore not his fault, but it stays because it seems wholly unfair and undignified.

She walks away from the window with her organs twitching under her skin. She sits down gingerly on the chair to which she's been assigned, and her eyes catch the digital clock that sits on the corner of the desk. There are 15 minutes until her first appointment; her stomach churns.

She gets ready to face what she's not sure she's ready to.

**~I~C~**

There's a knock at the door at precisely 9:00AM causing Bella to jump in her seat. She curses herself silently as she moves to the door, straightening her clothes and patting down her hair as she goes. She grasps the handle and pulls, coming face to face – or more face to chest – with a bulking figure of a man that is most definitely not _Leah_.

She's intimidated immediately, but tries not to let it show.

"Good morning, Doctor," the man says in a very calculated – if not cold – tone. "I'm Torval, I'm here to monitor your appointment."

Bella splutters. "Monitor?" She asks incredulously.

He nods, a jerky motion of his head, and moves slightly out of the way to gesture to Leah who stands awkwardly behind him – her hair covering her face as before. "For your safety," he expands, shifting his hands behind his back, and as he does Bella notices something – a taser, she thinks – tucked into the belt of his trousers. She blanches, her face draining of colour as she imagines him using it on the fragile girl behind him.

Her voice is cutting when she responds. "I don't think I'll need your services," she bites out, "thank you."

He looks a taken back, absolutely and utterly astonished. "Excuse me?" he asks, "It's really non-negotiable, I'm supposed to stay – "

"I won't be needing your services," Bella repeats, cutting him off. She levels him with a stare, putting as much steel behind it as she can, but inside she's praying he doesn't notice the shake that affects her voice, or the fact that her eyes dart away from his cool grey ones every five seconds or so. This questioning of authority – it's not something she does. In fact, she avoids it as much as she can because she's learnt that life is made less painful when you just shut up and take it. Questioning gets you nowhere.

Bella looks past Torval to Leah; her whole body is shaking so much that even the tips of her hair shiver. Bella's stomach dips heavily in sadness until there's a dull ache that settles and burns the foundations of the very lining. She looks back to the hulking man in the doorway and she whispers, "Please."

He stares at her for what seems to be an immeasurable amount of time, and during thus Bella feels like she's going to start peeling her skin off if he doesn't speak soon. Then he makes a slight motion of his head – a nod – and starts backing up. "I'll be talking to Jasper." He says in a clipped tone, and then turns his eyes on Leah. "I'll be back in an hour."

When he disappears, Bella lets out a breath and then speaks softly to the shaking girl as to not spook her any further. "Leah, will you come in?" She makes it a question rather than statement – or worse – a demand. She has a feeling that these people aren't given choices very often.

Or maybe she's just being judgmental; after all, this is only her first day.

Nevertheless, the nod Leah gives makes Bella feel a teensy bit better, like she's not forcing her into something she doesn't want to do.

When they're both sitting, Bella takes note of how her patient perches on the very edge of her chair, never relaxing back into the leather behind her. Her frame seems tense, ready to spring up at a moment's notice if needs be, and her face, as always, is covered by her hair.

Bella thinks that this is all that can be expected of someone who was sexually abused by their own father.

There's a faint sickness in her stomach as she looks over at the young girl with pained eyes. She had read her file during the empty 15 minutes she had had, and the horror that she'd read put down in black and white ink, the coloured pictures of her skin broken from attacks, and the numerous slit marks across her wrists had turned Bella's stomach until she thought she was going to be sick.

It seemed ridiculously unfair that this 16 year old girl had suffered so much in her life that she'd never really had the chance to live it. Every single one of Bella's problems seemed trivial and dumb in comparison to Leah's. At least she had _lived, _but after years of suffering in silence, Leah was found by a worried neighbour after her first suicide attempt. She'd made a make-shift noose and hung herself in the bathroom, only, it hadn't quite worked as she'd intended, so she was left to suffocate – she assumed – to death.

Her neighbour had seen a shadow moving across the window and had gone over to investigate. The front door was open so she'd gone upstairs, calling Leah's name as she went. When she found her there hanging, she thought she was dead already, but nevertheless got Leah's body down as quickly as she could and immediately called an ambulance. Luckily, she was found just in time. Ten, five minutes more and the lack of oxygen to her brain would have left her in a coma for what would mostly likely have been the rest of her life; it would have been a kindness to shut-off the life support machine and let her die.

Most likely, Leah would have thought it a kindness to let her die, period.

After that incident, her father had took matters into his own hands and had assured various concerned parties that Leah would be fine, that he would make sure she got the very best treatment and care. Of course, as soon as Leah left the hospital the treatment she received was very, very far from the best, and her father's idea of 'care' was not the idea of any other fathers – anybody else for that matter.

So this went on, and Leah kept getting abused, but she never stopped trying to get out either. Bella's mind flicks back to the images of the slits in her wrists, no, Leah was determined to escape ay way she could, and the only way she saw she could was via death.

Eventually, her father's carefully laid plans started to crumble after Leah was continuously admitted to the hospital. People were talking and watching – they were getting suspicious and uneasy. This was approximately the time Leah's Aunt, Sue, decided to step in. She was her mother's sister, but she hadn't seen her since her mother had died many years before.

One day, Leah and her father were alone in the house. Sue had gone to the supermarket – wouldn't be back for a couple of hours – she'd said. She realised halfway to the store that she'd left her purse at home, and with a low curse turned the vehicle back around.

She'd walked through the front door, humming to herself, when she first heard the muffled screams and sobs coming from the upstairs bedroom. She immediately froze, a trickle of fear rolling down her spine; that was _Leah_. She looked around and grabbed the first thing that came to hand – a heavy, china vase – and started for the stairs. She crept up them silently and slowly, and when she reached her nieces door, her blood stopped cold in her veins.

She didn't think twice as she rushed into the room and smashed the vase onto her brother in-law's head. Then she grabbed Leah, ran out of the room, the house, got into the car and never looked back.

Leah's suicide attempts didn't stop though, and Sue was at her wits end as to what to do with the broken girl. So with tears in her eyes, she had her committed, so she couldn't hurt herself any more.

"I didn't like Dr. Nevius."

Leah's quiet – almost whisper – voice brings Bella back to the present. She blinks back the tears that had formed in her eyes from remembering her file. She suddenly wonders if she's apt to handle this case, but she really wants help her; even if it's something as inconsequential as curing her of her nightmares, only she knows these aren't inconsequential to Leah, knows from her file they often keep her up at night. She's insomniac.

Bella feels that, if only on some small level, she can somehow relate to the girl in front of her.

"You didn't?" Bella asks, voice soft. "How come?"

Leah doesn't respond, just tugs at the end of her hair with pale fingers.

Bella leans back slightly in her seat, chewing on her bottom lip as she contemplates how to handle the situation. _Trust_, she thinks, _important_.

"Well, I hope we can get along." She continues, and keeps her tone soft and soothing. She leans forward slightly, searching, when her eyes catch her keys on her desk, the keying attached; the little blue clay figure with brown cotton-wool hair, googly eyes and a red-lipped smile.

"_Boo Boo!"_

_Bella immediately turns at the sound of that familiar voice. A slow smile spreads across her face until it's a grin as she watches her little brother's legs pump their way toward her. She crouches down just in time for him to crash into her._

"_Hey, Smurf!" She exclaims, hugging him tightly. When he pulls back she asks, "good day?"_

_He nods furiously before thrusting something into her face. She gives a light chuckle before taking the figure from him; small and blue and smiling. "What's this, little bit? Did you make a smurf?" She asks, smiling as his little freckled nose scrunches up._

"_No!" He yells, aghast, and Bella laughs. "Boo Boo! You, you!" He squeals, pressing the little figure into her cheek._

_Bella plucks it away from his chubby hand and surveys it very, very seriously. She hums and squints at it, making Eli giggle madly so that she's forced to tickle his sides for a minute._

"_Boo!" He gasps. "Stop, pwease!"_

_She relents eventually, and then attaches the little 'Boo' to her set of keys. "I think she looks just like me," she tells Eli, causing him to smile brightly, "I'll keep her right here so I'll never lose her." She says, jingling her keys for him to see._

"_Boo." He says, touching Bella's cheek. "Boo." Then touching the blue clay. "Home." He finishes, touching her set of keys._

Bella shakes herself out of the past, feeling her heart squeeze tightly in her chest. Once more, she pushes back tears. Then she twiddles the little figure off her set of keys. "My brother, Eli, made me this," she says, with only a small quiver to her voice. "When he was only very small, he called me _Boo_ back then." She wills Leah to look up, holding _Boo_ in her outstretched palm. Leah's hair twitches, as if hearing her unspoken plea, and she peers through the strands at the little doll in Bella's palm, but she makes no reach for it.

Bella moves away from her desk, and comes to stand beside Leah. Almost immediately, she drops to her knees and crouches in front of her. "Would you like to see?" She asks, softly.

_Trust_, she thinks.

Her file had informed Bella that she liked children, had participated in an after school programme for many years, in fact. Up until . . .

Bella hopes Leah sees this for what it is, an opening, an offering. The chance to see that the life _before_ is the life she could have now. That she could help her.

Leah's palm shakes violently as she holds her hand out, and Bella quickly places the clay doll in it, noticing how carefully covered up her wrists are.

"Okay," Bella whispers, "okay."

The rest of the hour passes mostly in silence, with Leah stroking the small doll in her hand reverently. Bella's heart bleeds for her, tears pulse behind her eyelids but she holds them back. How brave had Leah been all those years? Bella had to be brave now – for her, for the rest of her patients, for Eli, for _herself_.

When there's a knock on the door at ten, Leah immediately rises up and attempts to hand the figure back to Bella. "No," she says gently, "it's alright, you keep it."

Leah simply shakes her head. "It's yours, Dr. Swan," she says, voice so quiet but determined, "take it."

Bella does. "You can call me Bella, if you'd like."

Leah simply nods, and goes to the open door where Torval is waiting. Before she goes, she quietly asks, "Does he still call you Boo? Your brother?"

Bella's breath catches.

She doesn't know.

* * *

**A/N: :'(**


	6. Chapter 6

**Involuntary Commitment**

**Chapter 6**

***Bella***

After Bella's encounter with Leah, she has a half-hour break before her next appointment. As she once more wanders over to the sealed glass, she realises she's glad for the intermission. It is much more difficult to separate herself from the lives of her patients than she would have predicted – though technically speaking she's only had one patient thus far. Deep down she knows that in order to help them she must understand them, and the only way to do that is to get invested in them – what their lives were before this place; what happened so that they ended up here.

There's a heavy weight on her heart settled like stone as she thinks of Leah. She can't imagine how being abused by your own father, over and over again, for years, would feel. Bella had been lucky in that respect; her parents were the best people in her world, and she had admired them even as she grew out of nappies and into adolescence. In her eyes, her parents could do no wrong. Indeed, they lined the very sky itself with a purple, midnight blanket, and then studied it with diamonds for stars.

They were her entire universe wrapped up in two comforting packages; so samely sometimes that they seemed more one person than two. She never thought that the sky would fall, and the diamonds and the purple midnight would be the ones to dismiss them like they hadn't helped create it.

Bella shudders and leans her forehead against the cool glass. She must not think of them right now, but she can't help it. She misses them. People said it would grow easier with time, that the wounds would heal slowly and gradually, but heal they would. But to Bella, the more time that passed only served to pour salt into her cuts, so that they forever oozed out. She was lonely without them, and the one person that remained that was the picture of them conjoined – well. Bella couldn't face him, so similar was he and so afraid was she. Bella didn't know what to do.

"I miss you, mom," she whispers against the cold glass with her eyes closed, vividly picturing their faces behind closed lids. "Dad, too. I wish you guys were here. You'd know what to do – you always knew what to do." She breathes against the glass for a moment with still closed eyes. "I know you hate me for not going to see Eli," she chokes out, feeling the familiar burn of salt building up and mixing with water. "And I hate myself for it, too. But he looks so much like you. Mom, he has your eyes and freckles, and your hair and mouth, dad. He . . . he . . . " Bella takes a breath, and wipes at the tears that had dribbled down her cheeks with the back of her hand. "It's been a year, and I'm not even sure he knows what happened."

Bella's hand flies to her mouth to stifle any pained sounds that might attempt to escape as the familiar lump rises up in her throat. After a couple of minutes of heavy breathing, she finally opens her eyes. There are dribbles of water on the transparent glass, and she realises it's raining.

"But I'm doing my best," she says, staring at the drops as they roll down the window. "I'm going to get a nice place for us to live when the money comes in, just you see, and then they're bound to give me Eli. I can look after him – I will. He's my brother, I'll take care of him, I swear on my life – just as you took care of me." Bella pauses, and her hand finds the locket around her neck. She clutches it close to her heart. "I love you," she whispers, fogging up the glass. "I won't say lov_ed_ because that implies that I don't anymore. I'll always love you – not even death can take that away." With that, she kisses the locket and then the little blue doll clutched tightly in her palm.

**~I~C~**

Bella checks her watch. The time is exactly 10:17AM, and Bella's hands shake on the file that reads **ALICE** in black, block letters. She thinks of the small girl with the young yet old eyes, and her far-away, unseeing sight. Her face and stature are like a picture in her mind – in fact, all the patients are – and she's terrified to open the folder and see what she's faced, what she's _lived_ through.

Nevertheless, she presses her lips together and steals her nerves as she pulls back the cardboard flap. Her breath whooshes out of her as she comes face to face with a picture of little Alice – even younger than she is now – her dark eyes standing out amongst the white background she's been placed against. Her face is frail and thin, her small cheekbones standing out sharply in the onset of her skin. Bella's eyes keep finding their way back to her eyes though, so big and dark and empty – so utterly devoid of _life_ that she slams the folder shut, unnerved, and with a fast-pacing heart.

She stares at the folder for an immeasurable amount of time; black eyes flashing darkly on the cardboard and pale skin ridding it of its colour.

There's a knock at the door.

Bella jolts in her seat, her eyes shooting over to the clock on the desk. She silently swears as she realises it's time for her next session – and she hasn't read through the notes. She is unprepared mentally, she won't know how to stage the session, how to talk to Alice.

She stands up as panic swells in her gut, her heels pad, pad, padding on the soft carpet beneath her feet. Torval is waiting as he was before; dressed neatly in the same suit and black- tie. Bella opens her mouth and goes to speak, but Torval holds his hand up in the air to stop her. "If you'll excuse me, Doctor, but I think I _will_ be sitting in on this appointment."

Bella frowns, and without a word he steps aside slightly so Alice is in her view. She smiles at Bella, but it's eerie, and almost _dead_. She imagines the lips of a corpse twitching upwards in their coffin.

Alice says, "I killed my brother."

**~I~C~**

After the door is firmly shut on Alice and Torval, Bella's drops her face into my hands and breathes out shakily. There's a nauseous feeling in her stomach and her throat hurts like it has been subjected to the claws of a vulture.

After Alice's initial greeting, Bella stood stock-still for several seconds, before putting her game-face on, and calmly inviting Alice in to take a seat. She skipped in like she was on cloud-nine, an earthen look on her face like she was seeing beyond the pale office. Bella took the chair opposite her, and watched as Torval stood, arms clasped in front of him, near the window; his eyes on Alice.

Bella studied Alice in her chair as she sat there, seemingly limp. Her hands were in her lap and she twiddled her fingers round and round, over and over again until Bella started to get dizzy from watching her actions. She looked away, and discreetly pulled open her file again.

**NAME**_**: Alice Brandon**_

**COMMITTED****AT**_**: 17 y/o**_

**CURRENT**_**: 22 y/o**_

**COMMITTED BY:**_** Janet Brandon, Ray Brandon**_

**REASON FOR COMMITMENT:**_** Attacked brother in his sleep during mania state – near death.**_

**DIAGNOSIS**_**: Severe case of Bipolar Disorder with extreme hallucination and delusion tendencies. Patient experiences mania/depression attacks frequently. **_

And then, labelled in red block capitals –

**MENTALLY UNSTABLE: HIGHLY DANGEROUS**

Bella swallowed harshly against her sand-paper throat as she once more closed the folder. Alice hadn't killed her brother, but she _almost_ had. A cold shudder had run down Bella's spine as she thought of Eli.

"Alice," Bella had called when she looked back up. She had continued twining her fingers together, and her pace had picked up until it looked like she was in a frenzy. "Alice," Bella had repeated more firmly, and this time Alice had looked up at her.

Her eyes were dark and wide, and full of things Bella couldn't see – would never see. "I'm Dr. Swan," she said, though she knew she was introduced at the group session yesterday, she needed to break the ice – somehow. "It's nice to meet you."

Alice doesn't respond, but she looked confused as she blinked back at Bella.

"You look tired," Bella said, noticing the dark smudges under her eyes, made especially more prominent against the stark pale of her skin. "You didn't sleep well last night? Did the storm keep you awake?" Bella tried to incorporate something of the outside world into the conversation just to make this whole set-up seem more real and less like what is was . . . a set-up.

"I'm always tired," Alice had responded, one of her hands coming up to fiddle with the ends of her hair before rubbing her neck.

"How come?" Bella inquired, eager to keep her talking.

Alice's other hand had risen to rub at her temple. "The visions – the things I see, they keep me awake. And even when I do rest they rest with me. They paint my dreams in colour, and sometimes in black and grey and white. Then they wake me up – early, early, early, so it feels like I haven't been sleeping at all – ever."

Bella nods, and her hand scribbles things down on her pad without her noticing. Inside, she's a little fascinated and wonders if it's wrong for being so. "These visions you have . . . " she trails off, " . . . are they good, or are they bad?"

"Varies," she said, "depending."

"On what?" Bella asked.

Alice brought her knees up to her chest and started chewing at her fingernail. "When I'm happy, my visions are good, but when I'm not, they're bad." She pauses. "And even sometimes when I'm happy, I'll see bad things, so that I'm not anymore."

_Mania_, Bella had thought, _then depression._

"Are you happy now, Alice?" Bella asked.

"I don't know," she had replied, "I think so, but the colour is starting to leave things." She cocked her head to the side, and for a split-second her eyes lost that glazed look that had entrapped them ever since she sat down. There was a flash of pain that spun across her irises. "I think the darkness is coming – again."

Bella's heart had clenched tightly in her chest. "Doesn't the medication they give you help any?"

"No," Alice sighed. "Dr. Nevius said there was nothing for me. They just make me tired."

Bella had felt anger swell within her. That was twice now in two sessions. Jasper had said he couldn't quite handle them, and it seems that no, he couldn't – in more manner than one.

But they weren't _something_ to be _handled_. They were _someone_ to be _helped_.

"I'll see what I can do about that," Bella said.

Over the course of the next hour, Bella had asked more questions and Alice had answered them. It didn't seem to her that she could harm a fly as she had looked at her, small and fragile and pale, curled up in the opposite chair. Though Bella knew that she had never seen Alice have one of her attacks, or in a particularly heightened state, and so until then she couldn't make judgement.

She had purposefully not asked about her brother.

Bella breathes in the wooden oak desk she rests against, and once more finds she feels some emotional attachment to her patient. She wonders what Jasper might have to say about this, wonders if it's unorthodox to invest emotionally, but either way, she knows that she's going to have to keep on doing it. She knows there is no possible way she can help them if she doesn't befriend or understand them.

She closes her eyes at the same time she feels her heart pulse behind her ribs.

She's letting herself in for a world of hurt.

* * *

**A/N: Bella, Bella, Bella . . . do you agree with what's she's doing? Or do you think she should keep her distance? How do we feel about Alice? Eric's session will be up either next chapter or the one after. Trippy dialogue, here I come . . .**

**Speaking of trippy, Cosmopolis came out yesterday in the UK. Anyone manage to see it yet? I'll be seeing it tomorrow, it should make for interesting watching. I'm actually really excited about it. :D  
**

**As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. Until next time!  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Sorry, sorry and sorry for the wait. Please enjoy!**  
**

* * *

**Involuntary Commitment**

**Chapter 7**

***Bella***

The air around Bella seems stagnant, as if time itself had paused just to allow the dust particles brief periods of rest from floating, though there seems to be no dust around at all. Indeed, even as the winter sun shone brightly through the windows that didn't open, it shone not upon still dust, shone not upon anything other than the space about which was completely _devoid_ of it.

This is a vague notion Bella has as she walks along the deserted hallway. After a brief interval of 15 minutes, Bella had decided to go to the cafeteria to get some lunch. She was uncertain as to whether she was to provide one herself or if the staff as well as the patients were all served in the same way. She was uncomfortable with the idea of taking food off them; it would feel wrong – like she was in debt to them. And she didn't want to be in debt to anybody.

Bella's stomach gurgles loudly as she reaches the door to the cafeteria. She hesitates, contemplates just turning back around and going back to whence she came, but then she hears Jasper and Janine in her head. They're screaming the word _trust_ at her until she wants to cover her ears so the blood from her burst ear drums doesn't soil the nice, cream carpet.

Instead, she pushes the door open.

It's heavier than it looks and Bella releases a puff of breath in exertion. She steps through, the door closing silently behind her. For many moments all she can do is stare at the floor beneath her – this too, is carpet covered.

When she looks up, she's relieved to find that no-one is looking at _her_. She spies Emmett and Rose sitting together but not talking. As her eyes scan the long area, she notices Jasper speaking with Alice, as well as some other patients she can't remember the names of.

The carpet silences any noise that would otherwise come from her shoes as she walks forward. She glad because she's self-conscious; she doesn't think fits here.

She pauses at a nearby empty table and her stomach groans at her again – thinks her throats been cut. She's not worried because she's used to this kind of hurt, and it's no more bothersome than a fly that refuses to be swatted and continues to _buzz, buzz, and buzz_ in the silent space around. In such a rush this morning and so anxious to avoid her landlord, she forget to eat, or pack anything for today. She's hungry but she's not concerned about this fact; she'll eat when she gets home.

The picture of her home sparks something in her brain, and she looks to Jasper, realises she still needs to ask him about her wage. As she sits, she makes a mental note to talk to him as soon as he's finished speaking with Alice – it looks important.

Bella fiddles with her fingers, traces patterns on the table in front of her with her nails. She knows she should be getting to know her patients better, but right now all she wants to do is be alone. She needs time to regroup before her next session, and she's not in the right state of mind to talk to anyone right now. She looks up at Emmett and Rose and thinks: _I'll build up trust tomorrow._

Bella looks around the room quickly, and in attempt to make it seem like she's doing something productive, she roots around in her bag and pulls out her notebook. She lays it on the table, and flicks through it – briefly scanning over the notes she'd made from both Leah and Alice's session. With her pen she starts to doodle mindlessly; she disregards the formalities of lines and instead draws outside and between them. Her body is an empty shell – her mind has flew away, and with this emptiness of body, her hand takes over her pen without knowing what she's writing.

She writes –

_Mom, Dad _– draws curve after curve around their names until it looks like they're surrounded by a cloud.

Next –

_Eliot_ – draws a little stick figure, then another, a third, a fourth; they form a chain of linked hands – strong in their bond as ink is permanent on paper.

_Inflamed_, she writes, and draws corresponding flames and smoke. Then she draws windows, imbedded within the fire. They are _trapped_. She writes, _what alights – restricts._

When her mind finally returns to her body, she looks down and blanches. Face pale and bloodless, she slams the book shut with a definite _slap._

Her life in biro was _burning_.

Warm breath hits the back of Bella's neck; heat stirs her system. And then that same voice in that same deadly coo; "The urge to destroy is a creative urge."

Bella's heart stutters, and her fingers clutch her notebook until the tendons in her knuckles show through; bone white.

She swallows hard; there's no doubt in her mind that he saw.

Still, his breath continues to hit her neck in the most unnerving of ways until she blurts out: "It was a mistake." This only entices a ghostly chuckle from the form behind her. Bella bites back a shiver that waits at the very edge of her skin.

His heat disappears from her back as he moves around from behind her to in front of her. Without a word, he slides back the chair opposite her smoothly and effortlessly. He leans in as he says, "Mistakes? What are they? They don't exist in contemporary society." Then he leans back slightly, and Bella notices that dark shades still obscure his eyes from hers. If possible, this makes her more uncomfortable than if they were absent. There's something not quite right when someone can see you but you can't see them – something almost _voyeuristic_.

Bella just stares at him. _Mistakes? – They exist just as you and I do._

When she doesn't respond, he continues, "What – you don't know this?"

Finally finding her voice, Bella responds, "Mistakes are made all the time, Eric. They have been made, they are being made right now, and they will continue to be made." Bella pauses, wishing she could see his eyes.

"Ah," he sighs, as if pained. One of his hands reach up to rub at his forehead, and Bella thinks he might remove his sunglasses – but he doesn't. "You are wrong – absolutely. But I suppose it would be wrought to hold it against you, it is, after all, in human nature to want to put a label on something they deem _wrong_ so to not be perceived wrong _themselves_ by the rest to the world." His tangent pauses; his cryptic and meaningful speech echoing back in the air to fill the momentary silence. Bella's head spins. "Mistakes bring consequences and consequences are just an effort humanity makes to gain a sense of morality." He sighs once more, leaning back fully in his chair, and his long fingers twitch near his shades, but he doesn't remove them.

An unpleasant tingle rattles Bella's spine. "So what are we then? Are we all bad people just trying – and failing – to be good? How can we be truly bad if that's the case – if we're attempting to be good?"

Bella watches as a slow smile captures Eric's lips. "But what is bad?"

"You tell me," Bella replies, frowning.

His smile grows until it's a grin. "You should ask someone else – someone on the outside." He makes a motion toward the windows.

"I'm asking you."

"But this is it," he replies, leaning forward and invading Bella's personal space a little. She fights off the urge to lean back. "It doesn't make any sense to me. We label bad and we label good, and kindness is only kind because we say it is, just as evil is only evil because we say it is. The point is," His hands darts out until he rests his pointer finger on Bella's notebook. Her breath catches. "Why do this? Let's go around and rob banks if we want to, kill each other if we want to because we desire to. Morality?" He makes a motion towards Bella. "It's a thing – a thing of falsity. It was a mistake because that's what your conscious is telling you it is. That? That's false conscience – even better, a pretend conscience because what is conscience? Not even a thing of falsity – just nothing."

Bella's heart thumps in her chest – she can hear its rapid beat in her ears. Blood rushes through veins and arteries; oxygen is gained and then is left. She counts the number of breathes she takes in the silence – the sound of repetitive wet blinks. Bella's collecting all this information, calculating every demeanour her body takes in order to function. She's doing this so she doesn't do anything irrational – like scream, shout or cry.

His lack of humanity, his lack of belief in humanity, is so disturbing, so cynical and bent, that all Bella wants to do is get as far, far away from him as she possibly can.

She remembers what she thought she needed to do in order to help them – the people here. It was to _understand_. But she's not sure she can understand Eric at all. She doesn't want to think anybody beyond help, but she doesn't know how she can help him. _Tear away his skin_, Bella thinks, _and he's a robot._

She flinches away from her own thoughts.

He sits there, unmoving and unsmiling, hidden for all intents and purposes behind his dark shades.

"I'm sorry," Bella whispers, "sorry for whatever made you this way."

He doesn't respond.

"But you're wrong," she continues, voice still quiet. "Morality . . . conscience . . . they are real because I've _seen_ them. I've seen people do good things, and I've seen people sacrifice because they have no other choice, because there's no other way – " she breaks off, acutely aware of the lump in her throat; the tears biting at the corners of her eyes. She takes a breath. "You can't apply falsity to everyone in the world, because then what is the_ point?_"

"Exactly," Eric responds, voice low. His shoulders are slumped now, his head tipped down a little. "What _is_ the point?"

This tears a little at Bella, and she feels a crack in the self-constructed stone wall around her heart. On impulse, she reaches out a hand and grasps his that he had left floating near her book. His head snaps up to look at her, but he doesn't make a move to remove his hand from hers.

"There's always a point," she tells him, sadly, because she can see that he doesn't see one.

For an infinite period of time it seems that Bella stares into his covered eyes, while his covered eyes stare at her. Her smaller hand holds his tightly, trying to spread meaning into eyes she cannot see. The clatter and chatter of the cafeteria fade and fade until there's no noise at all, and then there's nothing – nothing at all but the Bella and the broken man.

* * *

**A/N:** Cryptic Eric is cryptic, huh? ;S

Also, I've started (another) new story! It's called **Edward, who?** And it's my first try at humour - check it out if you like. :)

www . fanfiction s/8241773/1/Edward_who (remove spaces)


End file.
